


Make Way For The Bad Guy

by Taxman



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Black Humor, Delusions of Godhood, Desperately Lusting for DLC, Macabre, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taxman/pseuds/Taxman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk already looped through this world about a billion times but never went entirely evil, nor entirely good. Watch them go ahead and do it now, getting progressively more unhinged on the way there. Effectively achieving godhood does stupid things to mortals. Just ask Sans. Hehe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning Of The End: This Name Is Hilariously Overused

Frisk sits next to Toriel on a balcony. The thick, heavy pillows they dragged there are comfortably firm and, while cold at first, gradually warmed up as they relaxed on them. The balcony overlooks the ruins that Toriel has made her home, quite the grand view in fact. For Frisk, it's the most uninteresting thing in the world.

They came here after Frisk voiced the need for a change of scenery after eating a few slices of snail pie. It tasted terrible, natch; meat, especially meat as slimy as that, deserved to be roasted so the slime lost its liquidity. Stuffing it into a dough shell just allowed it to slime up everything around itself. But Frisk didn't care about that either.

Oh sure, Frisk may have cared sometime about a million and three years in the past / two skips and a hop parallel to whenever they were right now, when eating a pie filled with meaty slimebags was something vaguely exciting, but now? It was dry, much unlike the pie itself. To put it simply, Frisk had worn out the novelties of this world.

How often can you repeat the same day while putting a new spin on it? Kill the goat, kill the large skeleton, kill the nerd, kill the fish, kill the clumsy kid without arms, kill the robot, kill everyone who could be vaguely qualified as a leader, kill the entire civilian populace but leave the leaders alive and any combination of the former. Save the same people, learn them inside out, what they like, what they know, what they fear. 

To Frisk, thinking about the Underground was like looking at a path they've trodden a thousand times while intensely studying how to tread it in the most efficient way possible. Or with the most flair possible. Or with the highest speed, or lowest hurt sustained. Frisk didn't even bother to gather any equipment anymore. A stick was more than enough to make it through and foodstuffs were only bought in case they happened to like the taste or were struck by a particular mood for them. No monster could touch Frisk anymore, and good for them. It was a bad idea to make Frisk angry by actually getting a few hits in. 

Because that usually made Frisk eager to hone their skills until getting hit didn't happen anymore. Sans knew how to sing that song quite well by now. When Frisk first managed to carve their way through his defenses and give him that terrible gash in the ribcage he had assumed that they would gloat. Not step over to the windows, break one and then jump to their death. Only about eighty fights and massive amounts of time warp vertigo on Sans' part later did it end. After carving his chest up for the eightieth time, Sans had a short flicker of a realization that he didn't manage to get a single hit in. Frisk took that moment to spread their arms, hive him a big happy grin, the sort you would expect a kid like that to make just before handing an exam they aced to their parents, give him a big, showmanlike bow and then reward him with the most sickening of all time vertigos that Sans knew by now signified a total reset of the timeline.

Of course, the fact that Frisk had to slaughter practically everyone in the underground to even get the rise out of Sans to fight them factored into it somewhat. To Sans, anyway.

To Frisk? 

To little Frisk, sitting there on the pillow, looking out over the ruins with their adoptive (?) mother figure sitting next to them and slimy snail pie settling in their stomach?

It meant nothing. Less than nothing. They cared and remembered it like they cared and remembered one of the many breaths they took in their life. Their deaths were just a means to an end, to get that fight. To see what's hidden, and once they had what they wanted they reset the timeline, discarded the memory like a used paper towel and went on doing their thing. They -could- and so they -had to-.

Frisk wanted to get the most out of this stroke of luck they had fallen into; it was about that simple. For some reason, the occasional human who dropped down here apparently had the ability to control time and space in this limited realm through sheer, bloody minded determination. Effectively immortal and effectively godlike, Frisk could now truly experience life like almost nobody had ever done before. Oh sure, that what the Flower had been before it became the Flower also had the same ability, but they were weak with age and death and Frisk could easily override them. Even the heckling of the Flower stopped after a while once it realized just how bloody minded and methodical Frisk was about working out whatever experiences could be extracted from this, like a child with a juice press and a very tough lemon half.

In the end though, the possibilities ran out. Frisk was left with a path trodden on so often only dusty dry packed earth remained where grass had grown before. Frisk desired more, but there seemed to be nothing left. The only way to more was through, and out. It was time to bring the story to a close.

And why not a good one? They all had been very nice playmates after all, however unwitting and possibly unwilling. They had earned themselves a happy ending to their little story down here.

Thought Frisk, as little white dust flakes fell of their hands.

What the-

Wait a-

Ohhh, not again! Frisk had just gotten up to give Toriel a neck massage and then their hands went on autopilot and wrung her neck like a wet towel. Frisk had just gotten too much practice with moves like that by now it was practically muscle memory.

Oh well, thought Frisk, and reset one final time.

Can't ace every exam on the first try.

***


	2. Breaking Characters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk and Sans have a heart-to-ribcage.

"Hello there Sans! How are you today?" called out Frisk while they trudged through the snow of the forest. Frisk knew that Sans was still playing by the script, after all these repetitions. It would be admirable if it wasn't so boring by now.

The branch on the path cracked behind them. Frisk didn't even bother to flinch, much less turn around, instead speeding up the trudging to a skipping. The bridge came into view and Frisk skidded to a halt right before it, then turned on the spot. 

Sans was there, closer than expected but clearly put off by this new behaviour of the human. Even they had stuck to the script in the past, for the most part, but now things seemed to be derailing of even the most loosely established tracks. He hesitated. 

"Don't just stand there, come closer! Don't you want me to shake your whoopee-cushion-rigged boney hand for the umpteenth time? Won't that please you? Won't that be fun?" The smile on Frisks' face looked perfectly genuine, an image of childish joy, all rosy cheeks and wide eyes, and an omen of one of those purest of laughs that can make aunts and mothers melt into their overly comfortable living room seats. But Sans was wary. He'd seen too much come of this kid to just accept this new development. Naturally, he was already outplayed by about eighteen turns, but the fewest people can realize this in time. 

Frisk reached out and grabbed his hand instead, then vigorously squeezed the whoopee cushion. The artificial farting noise sounded out loudly and then slowly petered out, while Frisk 's bright smile met Sans' flat, wary stare with extra clenched teeth.

"Happy now?" said Frisk.

Sans really didn't know what to say.

"Well then, good that we agree that the both of us are not." And the smile fell off Frisk's face like a mask with the strings holding it on cut. "I have exhausted the joy that this world can produce, Sans. I am tired of it. I will end this charade now."

Frisks' expression was... neutral. Their eyes and mouth formed perfectly straight lines. Sans really didn't know if he preferred this face over the former one.

"so what will ya do now kid? kill everyone all over again?"

Frisk giggled. Their expression did not move at all. "It is factually incorrect of you to say that I killed 'everyone'. I did kill most of the inhabitants of the Underground before but I believe I always reset before you finished dying of the gash in your chest, so at least you, Asgore and Flowey were never slain by me. Please stick to the truth. The both of us know better."

Frisk took a deep breath, the exhalation misting the cold air in front of them. "And no. I believe that you have all been excellent playmates and that you deserve the sort of good ending that ought to follow after a story like this / a struggle like this / a suffering like this."

Sans clenched his eyesockets shut and shuddered. The humans' speech had sounded as if it was coming off a skipping vinyl record right there, warping and all.

"You did good. Your friends and relatives were admirable in the roles they played. And you... well, I would say that your perseverance and, haha,

DETERMINATION

-the word called out, and the atoms of the world shook with its echo-

... deserves a special reward, given your special role in this play / game / gameplay. You get to accompany me. You get to ask questions. Just this once, as we roll the credits, you get to look behind the scenes."

The echo of the word still hadn't finished ringing in Sans' ear canals as he was hit by another blow by the human. 

"whaddaya mean by this? i hope you don't think i trust you."

"Trust does not factor into it. Inevitability does. You surrendered yourself, Sans. You surrendered and gave up. We both know this. Try not to argue against it. I won't hold it against you in turn. I can understand surrender. It's impossible not to bow one's head and succumb against fate itself. But it's over now."

Sans looked up. Frisk leaned forward, raised their hands and showed their palms to Sans. Dust-free, ash-free, clean, innocent child hands. If he didn't know what had been done with them he'd almost say they were kinda cute. 

He couldn't believe it. Seeing his friends die at Frisks' hands over and over again, he'd lost track of reality at some point, but that wasn't really critical. Many people who were not thrown through a gauntlet of time-loop-based torture had little grasp on reality. It was the point when he started losing track of his emotions and inner fortitude when things became dodgy. At some point of the endless eight, hope withers until it is little more than the first step to disappointment. 

Hoping again now seemed like little more than an invitation for the horrible pain of eternity to come rolling right back into his heart.

His eyes must have betrayed his thoughts. "It's a promise." said Frisk, and nodded severely, as much as something that looks like a ten year old kid can anyway. "But you'll have to play along. We still have roles to fill. The rail tracks must be traveled as they are laid out by destiny so that we can achieve the end you desire. There is only one path to happiness, and it must be walked with exacting precision."

"you wanna 'befriend' everyone, that it? you want to play it nice?" said Sans. "after all you did?"

"Yes. After all I did, all my sins, all the playful destruction, I will save everyone from their doom, befriend them and lead them out of the time looped hell they have been stuck in. Their friendship will allow me defeat the broken hearted child after I defeat the flower. You know how this system works, and so do I." Frisks' expression betrayed absolutely nothing.

"but it won't be real." said Sans. "you... you're not even seeing them as people, are you? they're all still toys to you. hell, I'm still a toy to you, or you wouldn't dare say this to my face."

"Half right. I do see them as people. They are people, you are a person, after all, quite undeniably so. I just do not see their free will as relevant when I have already deterministically explored every possible outcome that their actions and decisions could have in this time frame. As for you... well, I believe an apology will simply ring hollow. I will offer you your reward for your playing along after the cycle is broken."

Sans didn't exactly get the meaning behind those last few words, but the hope offered by the former ones was too tempting. The human had, just like Sans, practically never deviated from the script. Stuck to their handful of words spoken throughout the entire adventure, to such a degree that Sans ended up seeing them as more of an animal than a person in some of the more bloodthirsty loops. Now, Frisk was opening up like never before... and opening up entirely new chasms of cruelty along with it.

But was there any other option but going along with the show? Mettaton would know the answer to that, hah. This kid, this human, this otherworldly beast was holding the keys to his and everyone else's freedom... or damnation. When he thought about it, the choice wasn't really in his hands at all. Or rather, was already made.

So even if he wanted to brain Frisk all over again, he steeled himself and gave the human a nod.

The human nodded back, again. "Well then. There is a part for you to play. I believe your brother is about to check on your sentry station."

Sans looked past him. Sure enough.

"I'll be at the lamp."

They both got moving. 

***

༼ つ --_-- ༽つ Determination ༼ つ --_-- ༽つ


End file.
